Mama in the Parking Lot

Location

My tongue is rolling, twiriling and clicking. 

My lips are pressing against tongue and cheek. 

My throat erupts in a sound uncertain.

Trying to conjure words of language whose dialect has been long lost. 

For I am of a people who are rootless trees.

Unconnected but some how surviving. Supsended.

Suspended.

Her feet did not touch the ground.

Suspended. 

She wore the latest African-American accesory.

A nose.

Naked.

Her swollen belly had been spilt open.

Inside it displayed a life that had not begun to live. 

MAMA!!!

I was taught I should be ashamed of you. My skin. My hair. My language. My body. My Africa. My...

MAMA!!!!

One foot in the past, one foot in the present. I just really want to get to know you. Teach me Sankofa, my...

MAMA!!!!!

I coming home to you, mama.

Some where between hips and to brown thighs lies the universe.

We are you. 

We are spirittual particle.

God particle. 

Matter forming energy.

Energy.

Energy having a human exprience in the paradigm we have chosen for ourselves.

Truth.

Chakra.

Asana.

Abundence. 

Legacy. 

Dreams.

I will not leave my legacy in the parking lot. 

I will not leave my dreams in the parking lot. 

I will not leave my truth in the parking lot. 

Mama.

Guide that inspired this poem: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741